Jimmy drove the short distance to Tim's apartment; his mouth was dry yet more
than once he had to wipe the palms of his hands on his trousers. He wondered for
the umpteenth time if he was doing the right thing.

Again he heard Breen's words in his mind. 'If you really want to make things
right, Jimmy, you have to tell him'. But would telling Tim how he felt be the
right thing? It might be the honest thing, the truthful thing, the thing that
would mean he didn't have to lie any longer, but was it the right things? Was it
the fair thing? Would Tim be better off knowing? Was it really fair to tell him?

Yet he had to tell him something; he'd invited himself over, he couldn't just
turn around and go home and tell Tim he'd changed his mind - or could he? No, he
couldn't.

"Hey, Tim," he said, when Tim opened the door.

"Hello, Jimmy. Is everything all right?" Tim had sounded surprised when Jimmy
had called to ask if he could come over and the look on his face said he was
still puzzled. Jimmy shrugged and looked down at the ground. "Come in and have a
beer."

"Thank you." Jimmy followed Tim into his apartment and waited in the middle of
the room as Tim got two beers out of the fridge. He took the tops off both
bottles and handed one to Jimmy, who took it and nodded his thanks.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" Tim asked, after silence fell between
them.

Jimmy swallowed a mouthful of beer. "It's about the wedding," he said.

"Look, Jimmy, you're not going to ask me to be your best man, are you? Because
I'd be honored, but I think it should be Ducky. It'd be wrong to ask anyone
else."

Jimmy shook his head. "No, it's not that. I was going to ask Dr. Mallard."

"Was?"

Jimmy sighed. "The wedding's off, Tim."

"Off?" Jimmy nodded. "But why?"

Jimmy glanced away from Tim, looking down at the floor for a moment. "Because
I'm in love with someone else," he said quietly, before looking up into Tim's
eyes.

"Oh," Tim said. Then, "Oh? Jimmy are you saying . . ."

They just stared at one another. Then Jimmy gave a half-smile and said quietly.
"Yes, Tim. I am."

"Oh," Tim said again. Jimmy took another swallow of the beer and put the bottle
down on the table and turned towards the door. "Where are you going?"

Jimmy stopped. "Home." He turned around. "Look, Tim, I'm sorry, okay? I
shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have told you. But Breena said if I really
wanted to make things right, I should tell you."

"Breena knew?"

Jimmy nodded. "She said she saw it in the way I looked at you and spoke about
you. I'm really sorry, Tim," he said again. "You don't have to worry. I'm not
going to -"